


Exsanguinate

by created_clockwork



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Biting, Degradation, Dom/sub, F/F, Master/Pet, Other, Reader Insert, Reader is AFAB - Freeform, Violence, completely self indulgent i love my horrible siren wife, kind of dubcon, no pronouns, pet kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 13:05:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18811468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/created_clockwork/pseuds/created_clockwork
Summary: You know what she wants. Until you don't.





	Exsanguinate

You could hear Tyreen parading through the corridor to your room from a hundred miles away. She’s not the quietest, but this evening, she’s particularly loud.

Her footsteps resonate through the creaky floorboards, heavy and uneven - it sounds like she’s limping. That can’t be good. You fumble with your shirt buttons, shaking too much to get them undone.

The doors swings completely back on its hinges and ricochets against the wall. Tyreen stumbles over the threshold, doubled over, clutching her side. Her hand is coated a vicious red and she’s bleeding from the corner of her mouth. Your heart is in your throat as you watch her steady herself against the wall.

“Get... the fuck... over here,” she snarls after a few heaving breaths.

You scramble to your feet, still attempting to unbutton your shirt. You know the drill by now, but your trembling fingers won’t cooperate.

Her hands are on you as soon as you’re within reach, and you catch a glimpse of the torn, bloody mess of her clothes and abdomen where the bullet had entered. She’s shivering violently, struggling to keep a grip on you, and when she drags you to the floor you aren’t sure if it’s intentional or if she’s falling and taking you down with her.

“Don’t waste my fucking time.” She smacks your hands away and pulls open the collar of your shirt. You don’t have time to react before her hands are on your throat, what feels like her full bodyweight crushing your windpipe, and she’s glaring you down with a look as desperate as it is hungry.

It takes a moment for the feeling to sink in, but it sinks in hard. She’s drained you before, to incapacitate you, for her own pleasure - but this is different. This is _need_. You feel like she’s reaching into your chest and crushing your lungs, your vision spotting, your head throbbing, starved of oxygen. Your heart thrums uselessly, unable to keep pace with how rapidly the life is bleeding from you. You don’t even have the strength to reach for your throat.

After what could have been hours, she finally lets go. Your head is pounding and you cough pathetically, the jolt of your chest costing your spent body the last of its energy. 

For a moment you think she’s going to be merciful. She rolls back on her heels, panting intensely, shifting to straddle you in a more comfortable position. You can just make her out through blurry vision; she rubs her forehead with the heel of her palm and takes a few steadying breaths before reaching down to assess her gunshot wound.

Sensation seeps back into your limbs, albeit slowly. You try to raise your hand to your face, managing only to jerk your arm weakly.

Tyreen is inspecting her hand and scowling.

“Not… Enough.”

She lunges for you again, claws out, going for your exposed chest. Her nails rake thick lines into your skin, deep enough to draw blood, vicious enough to make you gasp. The assault lasts a second but she’s panting as she pulls away, and she pauses briefly to compose herself before aiming another attack. 

This time she pulls further, tearing through your shirt buttons, clawing the length of your stomach. She’s trying to tear right into you, deep into your skin, but she can’t find the force to do it. Blood tracks thin paths over your shoulders. If you had the energy to scream you would.

Her hands land on your shoulders, fingers still tensely digging into you. You brace yourself for another round, but it doesn’t come.

Instead, her hands seem to go slack and she runs them gently over the wounds she’s made, smearing blood across your chest, following an imaginary line up to your throat dotted with bruises and red fingerprints. She leans in, breath tingling warm against you. You dare not breathe as she noses coyley at your collarbone, feathering kisses along your clavicle. 

And _bites_.

She has to fight to tear your flesh, but her teeth sink into you much more easily than you expect. You panic, searching desperately for the energy to push her off, but it doesn’t come. You can feel her every movement against you, the way her teeth drag bluntly through you, catching as she sinks too deep and can’t match the pace of her own hunger.

She pulls away momentarily, wipes her mouth on the back of her hand, and leans in again, higher this time, closer to your jugular. Your mouth hangs open, screaming silently as you feel her sated groan vibrating against your throat. Your chest convulses, aching for words that won’t come.

Your silence is broken when she hits a vein, finally, what she’s looking for. A choked cry twists from your lips as she pulls at the wounds she’s made, the nauseating sensation of blood dragging through your veins the wrong way. You feel dizzy, empty, resigned, barely objecting when she pulls you upright and buries her mouth into your neck.

Tyreen’s arms weave around your back, holding you in a perverse mockery of comfort. She continues to drink deeply, hungrily from you, and your heart feels like it’s going to give out. And close to your chest you feel her heart, hammering intently, punctuated by her heaving gasps in the brief moments of respite when she pulls away from your throat to breathe. You’re aware of blood, yours and hers; running down your chest from the wounds on your throat, sticking and chafing against you from her own injuries, connecting you both with depraved intimacy.

It could have been minutes, or hours. It could have been days. Tyreen lets go of you, letting you hit the floor unceremoniously. The smack of your head against the hardwood shocks through you, knocking what remains of your breath from your lungs.

You’re aware of her eyes on you. You can barely see at this point, but the chill that ripples through you when she holds you in cold regard transcends your vision. She makes a funny, agreeable noise, and her weight lifts from your waist.

You want to move. You want to roll onto your side and go to sleep. You want to get up and move back to your bed and hide under the covers until you feel human again. You’re dimly aware of your throat pulsing gently, the blood soaking into the wood beneath you, another stain seeping into the floor, another reminder of her conquest over you in her absence.

Every sound Tyreen makes is amplified: her footsteps echo against the floor, the rustle of fabric, her slightly laboured breathing. It’s making your head hurt. The world is blurry and senseless, everything melding together into formless sound and colour.

Through the fog, her fingers dance along your jaw. She’s kneeling above your head, pulling you up to lie on her lap. The motion is dizzying, unpleasant. You can’t find your voice to object. 

“Stay with me, sweetheart,” She murmurs as your eyes drift shut, “I’m not done with you yet.”

Her hand drifts down and brushes against your ragged flesh. You _hiss_. She chuckles softly, and keeps going, and through your blurry vision you can make out the glow of her tattoos, the blood on her hands, the lines she’s painting down your chest running parallel to the scratches.

She pauses as she reaches your breast. Her fingertips brush tenderly over your nipple, tracing small circles as she hums her approval. You’re taken aback by how clearly the sensation cuts through the haze.

“Sensitive?” She laughs. _Pinches_. You gasp in protest, lacking the energy to push back. Her free hand cups under your chin and tilts your head up to look at her. Her face is so vivid you wonder if she’s using her powers to bring you to lucidity; she’s smiling with resigned savagery, features highlighted by the soft glow of her markings. She’s naked. Of course she’s naked.

She leans over you, hand splaying, feeling down your stomach. She brushes across still-bleeding lesions, dragging dark red marks over you, coating her hands further. The motion is possessive, determined; you don’t think you could move if you wanted to. 

She doesn’t stop when she reaches your waistband. Her hand slips under the fabric as she looms over you, and you find yourself fixated on the blue weaving around her torso, the mess of scars where her skin is knitting back together. You jolt as her fingers, warm and wet from your blood, find your clit, drawing the same small circles, pressing lightly. You’re not sure you have the energy to do this, but it feels good. Pleasure ripples through you and internally you curse at your inability to respond. You want to grind against her fingers, push back against the feathery touch, demand _more_.

Of course, she knows this. She continues to tease, fingers never drifting any further between your legs. Somehow, you manage to whine.

Tyreen laughs gently, adjusting her position, resting two fingertips against you and ceasing the motion.

“Do you think you’ve earnt this, pet?”

You want to scream. Her fingers curl beneath you, just barely, and she lets out a breathy sound that could be a giggle.

“You’re _soaked_.”

Without warning she withdraws her hand. You moan your discontent. She assumes her previous position, kneeling with your head in her lap, and she brings her wet fingers to your lips. It takes no coaxing on her part for you to accept them. Her fingertips brush over your tongue and press down, forcing the heady taste of your blood and your arousal as deep into your mouth as she can without choking you. 

“How’s that, faithful?” Her fingers withdraw from you and trace the outline of your lips. “You taste good?” Your breath catches, and you can feel the smirk on her face. “Should I find out for myself?”

She sets you down gently, though your brain still rings as the back of your head connects with the floor. Following her makes you feel dizzy, so you squeeze your eyes shut and pray for your head to stop spinning.

Tyreen’s hands follow the curve of your hips and hook into your waistband. She presses a kiss against your stomach and continues, following a path further down as she removes the remains of your clothing. It’s not like she lets you wear much.

Her hands find your hips and tilt you towards her, coaxing your tired legs over her shoulders. It’s uncomfortable; your neck aches and you jerk against the floor as she pulls you closer, but it all melts away when her tongue presses gloriously against you. Her groan entangles with yours as she laps slowly, agonisingly at you, with just enough pressure for you to lose yourself and forget your fatigue. You buck desperately against her mouth and she pulls away with a smirk.

“Patience.” She turns and presses her lips against the inside of your thigh, nipping sharply, making you gasp. She does it again, harder, and you’re sure she draws blood this time; her tongue presses warm and wet against your skin, doing little to soothe the ache, and she kisses her way back up to your core.

She gives you what you want. Her tongue meets you hungrily, pushing against you with the vigour and gusto of her bites. You couldn’t meet her rhythm if you tried, and your attempts to push back are met with warning growls and the hint of teeth. She presses into you and pulls out just as quickly, flicking her tongue against your clit, and your insides coil deliciously, desperate for release. She’s pushing you into the floor and your head is pounding and you couldn’t care less.

When she pulls away suddenly, you want to cry. You’re so close, and it’s painfully obvious. Tyreen sets your hips against the floor and crawls on top of you. You’re far from recovered; your legs drop uselessly against the hardwood, desperate as you are to lean up and wrap them around her waist.

Tyreen takes your chin in her hand, pressing her thumb against your lower lip, forcing you to look at her. You’re lost instantly: the cold blue of her eyes pierces into you and you recoil, remembering what you are and what she is and why you should never let your guard down around her.

She glares you down until she’s satisfied with your fear. She leans in so close, her lips barely brushing yours, and breathes one word against your mouth.

_“Beg.”_

You take a second to process it. She feels so far away, shielded by her dominance and divinity, although she couldn’t be closer to you if she tried. Her grip on your chin tightens in warning. She won’t repeat herself.

The words spill from your mouth like blood from a wound. You don’t know if you’re making any sense, just babbling whatever comes to mind, coherency lost amid gasps of please and need and mercy and more.

She’s satisfied. She lets go of your face and pulls you up under her, fingers pushing violently inside you. Her body is pressed against yours, every soft curve and sharp angle of her pushing sublimely against you, her mouth finding your neck once more and nipping hungrily at your healing wounds. Her hips move in rhythm with her fingers, thrusting aggressively, jerking you against the floor. Everything hurts, your breath is knocked from you with her every movement, and as her fingers curl inside you you wail and cry for her to keep going, harder, faster, you’re so close - 

You howl your orgasm, your body wracked with tension and coming apart in her arms. Your fingers dig into her, dragging along her back, your body wrapping around her and pulling her as close as you can.

She lets you go and you fall back, panting. Her wet fingers touch your lips once again and you barely think, your tongue darts out to meet them and relish in the taste of yourself.

“Good…” She purrs. She pulls away, the back of her hand ghosting down your throat, over your breasts, caressing your thighs as she sits up. “You’re so good, bleeding for me…”

Your heart steadies and you try to catch your breath. Tyreen is watching you, tattoos glowing softly, and as she runs her hands reverently up your sides you feel warmth and calm flooding your body.

Tyreen leans over you again and you have to stop yourself flinching. Her fingers move tenderly over the aching wounds she’s made on your neck, healing but still painful.

“I made a mess of you,” she murmurs, seemingly to herself. “I’ll need something sharper for next time.”


End file.
